


Saliva

by GarrulousGibberish (orphan_account)



Series: Rats in the System [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombies, Angst, First Kiss, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, I fail at happy things, M/M, Side Story, Slash can be read as Sherlock being socially inept, Story Interlude, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-02
Updated: 2012-09-02
Packaged: 2017-11-13 10:15:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/502434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/GarrulousGibberish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John bemoans his inability to kiss someone, being infected himself and thus liable to infect another. Sherlock does not see this as a problem. John then tries to explain the closeness that comes when kissing someone, but realizes it really doesn't matter, because he couldn't be any closer to anyone than he was to Sherlock.</p><p>One-shot based on the original arc of Rats in the System. This is set sometime at the end of chapter four. I suppose you don't need to read the full story to understand this, but it will probably be a lot more impactful if you do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Saliva

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BlueItem](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=BlueItem).



John was trying his best to not seem petulant as Sherlock extracted another vial of his blood. The syringe slipped out of his vein, followed by an escaping drop of red that was quickly swiped away by a swatch of cloth Sherlock had procured. All things considered, he'd gotten off incredibly lucky. Things could have been so much worse, and yet he still couldn't get rid of the feeling that he'd been cheated. It made him bitter despite his fortune, which just made him feel guilty about being ungrateful, which ultimately left him frustrated.

Sherlock quirked an eyebrow at him. "I don't want to hear your complaints about the blood draws. We both know it is necessary, so winging about it will not—"

"Not what I was on about at all, Sherlock," John huffed, tugging his shirt sleeve down his arm and stalking back over to his bed, where he sat with a thump. "Good to know you're not actually a mind-reader, though."

Sherlock sniffed and removed his (John-enforced) gloves. "What is it, then?" he asked, though not seeming particularly interested in the answer. He went about fiddling with his papers and beakers, arranging them in a fashion that seemed no less chaotic and disordered than it had originally.

"It's just..." John said into his hand. Sherlock stopped adjusting his research and finally gave John his attention. That focus just made him feel awkward, however. He really was making too much of an issue out of this, wasn't he? "Well," John continued, "if I'm infected, even immune, I can still infect someone else who comes into contact with me."

"With your bodily fluids, yes." Sherlock flashed the gloves he had worn in John's face. "The reasoning for these, as you so adamantly impose."

"Yes, but it's not just my blood, now is it? It's my saliva, too." How to explain this to a man who had the social capabilities of a child?

Sherlock continued on. "We've already taken measures to make sure that you do not contaminate anyone. As you refuse to leave the ward, all you can do is adhere to the parameters we have set. Should you do so, there should be no reason to worry about accidental transference."

John sighed as Sherlock completely missed his point. "No, I _know_ what I have to do, Sherlock. It's not that. It's just that I may not _want_ to always keep away from people, but now I don't have a choice in the matter."

Sherlock gave him a sidelong look. "You wish to infect someone, then?"

"What, no. No, that's exactly what I don't want to do. Which is what is so bloody awful about it all."

"So you don't want to infect someone, and yet you're upset about the means to prevent you doing so." Exasperated, John felt ready to just let the subject drop, but he then noticed the severe lines around Sherlock's mouth that appeared whenever the detective was mocking John's human sentimentality. He knew damn well what John was trying to say.

"You're being deliberately thick, aren't you?" John frowned.

Sherlock grunted and sat down at the desk. "I don't see why it should matter to you so much. It is probably more sanitary, in any case, too keep your saliva to yourself, whether it be infected or not."

"It's not about sharing saliva, Sherlock, it's about sharing intimacy. Just...with everything the way it is now, to lose the ability to connect to someone in that way makes everything a bit more...lonely." As the words left his mouth, he immediately hated how desperate it made him sound.

Sherlock gazed at him critically. "You're not alone, John. You have everyone in The Compound to support you. And you have me."

"It's not the same. I mean, not that I would be more connected to anyone else than you, even if I did kiss them," John rectified, seeing Sherlock's face go vacant. He was feeling increasingly guilty about this line of conversation as it continued. Why was he complaining about being alone? He at least held a greater sense of community than Sherlock had. John was really Sherlock's everything. And to take that away...

John fought off the fresh sense of panic he had felt when he was certain that Sherlock was going to kill himself.

"Why would a kiss make you feel any more connected to someone?" asked Sherlock, quietly. He had turned away from John to flick on the radio, but he kept the volume low. John swallowed past the tension in his throat.

"It's just significance we've given it as a people, I suppose," John tried. "Forget I said anything, it's not that important." He lay back upon his bed, eyes trained on the periodic table above it, though not truly seeing.

"Do you feel disconnected from people whom you have not kissed?" Sherlock queried. _Do you feel disconnected from me?_ he was really seeking an answer to.

"Of course not," John reassured as best he could. In truth, there were just certain ways of being with someone that could only be displayed in certain ways. But he couldn't have Sherlock thinking he meant any less to John just because he didn't think of him in that way. Physical intimacy didn't factor into their relationship because it wasn't needed. Their connection transcended that. But explaining that was simply beyond his capabilities. "I was just being silly," he said, as an alternative. "I don't suppose I'll miss it quite so much."

He lie in silence, hoping that what he'd said put the detective's mind more at ease. He had not intended on making such a debacle of the whole thing. And now his own insecurities had fuelled Sherlock's, and it made a heavy stone weigh down John's stomach.

Sherlock rose silently from his seat with a stoic expression etched into his features. He stood over John, who looked back with tangible worry.

"What is it?" John asked. But Sherlock did not attempt to answer. He continued to stare at John as if deciphering a puzzle, and it made John's skin crawl from the intensity. "Look, what I said really wasn't that important. A kiss is just—"

Sherlock completely ignored his blathering and swooped low. For a second, John thought he was going to stop and just stare, ignoring John's personal space as he had done countless other times when he felt it necessary. But he didn't stop, and the sudden pressure of dry, chaste lips against his own paralyzed him as if he'd been struck. Sherlock's neck was craned at an awkward angle in position to his head, and John innately thought of how uncomfortable that must be before the detective moved away and the realization of what had just occurred dawned on him.

Sherlock had kissed him.

A vivid flush seared through his skin.

Sherlock took several steps back, gaze pinning John still. "Do you feel any different? Any more..." He made a vague gesture between himself and John and the invisible link between them.

"I—" John started, face aflame. "I suppose?"

Sherlock nodded decidedly and sat back at his desk. "Good," he said. "Now that that's out of the way, we do not have to repeat it. If you're connected to me, you do not need to be connected to anyone else. And it did not require the transfer of saliva to do so."

He seemed very proud of his conclusion, and John didn't have the heart to try to reprimand his logic.

Forcing down the embarrassment he felt, John tried to relax back upon the bed. The radio flitted through the space between them. After a while of this, the stillness eased away John's stress, and he chuckled softly to himself. He probably couldn't feel any closer to Sherlock if he'd been sewn to the man. Why focus on such trivial things? While he may miss that intimacy that he shared with others, he didn't need it like he needed Sherlock. It wasn't necessary to his survival. Now if only he could somehow beat the notion into the madman's head that his own safety meant as much to John as John's did to Sherlock. He needed to take greater care to keep safe and _not infected_.

He thought for a moment.

"Your cure," he began, breaking the silence, and with it, the remaining dregs of unease. "Can it reverse the virus in a living being?"

And thus the brief episode came to an end, and John filed it away with the moniker of 'Sherlock's Psychotic Break.' Whenever mentioned, he would refuse to speak of it. As Sherlock himself had said, it had happened once; there was no reason to repeat it.

Though he did think back on it, on nights when the sense of loneliness would seep in through the cracks, and the memory would make him smile.

**Chapter Art:**

****

[by bottlebee.](http://bottlebee.tumblr.com/post/76415182075/a-board-for-garrulousgibberishs-fantastic-zombie)

**Author's Note:**

> Take some fluff. _TAKE IT._


End file.
